Reaction
by KarmaBean
Summary: The sequel to Coincidence. The wedding is coming...
1. Default Chapter

Reaction  
  
**  
  
Author's Note: This is the follow-up piece to Coincidence, but it's not complete. This is just the first third, or half, I don't really know, ha, of this story. I've just been holding onto it for so long without movement that I figured I should put it out there to answer some questions I've gotten about sequels and what the hell I'm doing. In truth, I just got started writing this thing again, so hopefully it's going somewhere.I blame it on birthdays, really.  
  
**  
  
"What was I thinking? I can't put Helena next to Hermia," muttered Emma, pulling the pushpins labeled 'Helena' from the corkboard. She twisted it back and forth between her forefinger and thumb as she stared at the little white circles that denoted tables.  
  
Rory swallowed a sip of soda and quirked a brow. "Why not?"  
  
"Are you kidding me?" asked Emma. "Hello, look at their names, Lor. It would be a disaster."  
  
Rory laughed. "Oh my god, are you suggesting that they can't be near each other because of their names? That's insanity."  
  
"No, it's a desire to see my reception go smoothly," Emma said, taking a sip of her own soda. "I know you've read Shakespeare, because I was in the class. You know they didn't get along."  
  
"They got along fine. They were friends!"  
  
"Until Demetrius came along as stirred the waters," Emma pointed out. "They almost had a catfight."  
  
"They were under the influence of fairy magic," Rory countered.  
  
"It would have happened despite Puck."  
  
Rory shook her head. "Is there a Demetrius at the table?"  
  
Emma wrinkled her nose. "No, but that's irrelevant."  
  
"It is so relevant. You can put them at the same table because there is no Demetrius factor to mess things up.Why am I even arguing over this with you? They're just names," she said. "Do they even know each other?"  
  
"No, it's my aunt Helena and Tristan's cousin Hermia," Emma told her.  
  
Rory smiled. "Well you see, then they must sit together, because it's like they're meant to meet. How many other people can claim to share names with Shakespearean characters?"  
  
Emma pondered this. "God, you're right. It's kismet," she said, replacing the pin back in its original spot.  
  
"If you managed to find a Hippolyta and a Titania, I think I'd be even more impressed," Rory said with a soft chuckle.  
  
"Maybe a Peaseblossom."  
  
"Or a Mustardseed."  
  
"We've lost it, haven't we?" Emma asked with one hand over her face.  
  
Rory sighed. "We have been working on this seating arrangement for a while. Maybe we should."  
  
Emma reached out and grasped Rory's arm. "Holy shit, I think we're done."  
  
"No way," Rory said with awe, staring at the board with the tiny colorful pins-red for women, blue for men-and just as colorful name tags in every color of the rainbow-the warm colors denoted favorable people, and vice versa for the cool colors.  
  
Rory had scoffed at the archaic system, trying instead to make Emma use a proper computer program that she could easily save on a disk, as opposed to the bulky board. But Emma explained that she needed the visual representations. So in compromise, Emma got her board, and Rory followed along on her own program, making a copy, just in case. And now, it appeared, that both were complete.  
  
"Yes way," Emma said, rising to her feet and dragging Rory with her.  
  
Like giddy children, they danced around the living room, celebrating the end to their grueling day. Finishing a seat chart to include one hundred and fifty guests was definitely an occasion worth celebrating, especially when it was supposed to include two hundred guests. Fifty poor souls didn't make the cut, which was quite tragic, but a necessity.  
  
But almost as soon as the dancing started, it stopped with a wide-eyed Emma staring at Rory with her hand over her mouth.  
  
"What is it?" Rory asked.  
  
"I have to meet with a client downtown in half an hour," said Emma, already dashing into her room.  
  
"But it's a Sunday night!"  
  
"Interior decorating knows no conventional time!" her friend exclaimed from inside her room. Emma came back out in what seemed like a minute, in a gray gabardine suit with a jade-colored top underneath; it was a complete one-eighty from the shorts and old college t-shirt she had been wearing. "Does this look okay?"  
  
"You look great."  
  
Emma nodded as she checked her purse for all the necessities. "Good, good."  
  
"Don't worry, you'll make it in plenty of time."  
  
"I hope so.What is this damn ribbon." she trailed off, messing with the magenta ribbon that was tied around her wrist.  
  
"Em, were you supposed to remember to do something?" asked Rory, familiar with her friend's habits. She often tied a ribbon around some part of her body-not just her finger-to remind her notoriously forgetful self to do some task or other.  
  
"Oh no. I told Tristan I'd head over to his place tonight with the seating arrangement so he could look at it and make any changes he wanted. Crap."  
  
Rory shrugged. "Just go over after your meeting," she suggested.  
  
Emma grinned. "That's a good idea. Great idea, in fact. Dinner should be over by nine.I'll just call Tristan and tell him the plans need to be shifted a little," she said, slipping on her watch. "I just feel so bad. We're already on a tight schedule as is. It's all my parents' fault."  
  
Rory stifled a laugh. "Oh yes, damn them for planning that cruise right before your wedding. Never mind the fact that they'd been planning it for months before you even announced your engagement. They should be sent to the middle of the Mojave in August. Yes, learn to forage for themselves like wild beasts should they survive the blistering days and hypothermic nights."  
  
"Tré dramatic, Lor."  
  
"I try."  
  
"You know I love my parents, but why do they need to approve the bloody chart anyway? Shouldn't we know best who should sit next to whom? They're our friends," said Emma, shuffling towards the door.  
  
Rory sighed, following suit. "Ah yes, but you forget the obligatory family friends who are very unpredictable."  
  
"Ay, there's the rub," Emma said with glee and she bounced over the threshold.  
  
"My, we are full of Shakespeare tonight, aren't we?"  
  
Emma quirked her lip, and continued, "For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we shuffle off this mortal coil." She trailed off the line, prompting Rory to finish it as she pulled the door shut.  
  
"Must give us pause."  
  
Remembering the English class they shared and the ridiculous professor that insisted they memorize that particular soliloquy, they grinned at one another, then started chanting the rest of it as they rode down the elevator.  
  
*  
  
Disney was her weakness, especially Beauty and the Beast. She didn't know why, but every couple weeks, Rory felt compelled to pop the movie in her DVD player. She would repeat dialog, belt out the songs, laugh and cry. Because darn it, it was just that good. And one of her most favorite scenes was the transformation of the Beast into his true princely self. It was terribly wonderful, in her opinion, that the scene could make you sniffle like hell when the Beast gets stabbed, but then make you want to pee your pants when he levitates and starts shooting light out of his digits. It was as simple as that.  
  
However, at the moment, instead of watching the screen, she was scraping the bottom of her quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream. How had she managed to finish it all in one sitting? There was more than half left. And it was supposed to last her the entire movie.  
  
"This can't be right," she muttered.  
  
And then the phone rang. Peeking at the Caller ID, Rory saw that it was Emma on her cell. What could she possibly want at.11:00 p.m.? She should be with Tristan by now, and Emma never called Rory when she was at Tristan's.  
  
"Hey, what's up?"  
  
Emma opened up with a tired sigh. "I need to ask you a favor."  
  
"You don't sound so good. Is something wrong?" Rory asked.  
  
Emma's voice was hushed. "Five minutes, Lor, five minutes. Five minutes and I would have been done with the client dinner, and ready to go over to Tristan's. Just as I was handing over my credit card to the waiter, my phone rang. It was Nessa, and she was, is, hysterical because Ethan left her a Dear Jane letter."  
  
"Oh.wow," Rory breathed.  
  
Nessa and Ethan. They were one of the few married couples in Rory and Emma's social circle, and the most happily married at that. They were the closest thing to bliss without faking it. Though, as Emma soon revealed, one of them, Ethan, was faking it.  
  
He'd left her.  
  
For a man.  
  
"You've got to be kidding me," Rory said, trying to tamp down an unruly desire to chortle.  
  
Emma sucked in air between her teeth. "Not even I am cruel enough to make something like this up."  
  
Rory shook her head. "I wouldn't even know how to respond to something like that."  
  
"Exactly. Which is why I've been here with Nessa for the past hour and a half, trying to calm her down. Luckily, we've moved from sobbing and self- blame to sniffling and staring blankly," Emma explained. "I've only just gotten feeling back into my hand; she's had a death grip on me since I walked through the door."  
  
"So how'd you find a chance to call me?"  
  
"She's in the bathroom, but she'll be out any second," Emma told her. "Anyway, the favor."  
  
"Sure, anything."  
  
"The seating chart, can you take it over to Tristan for me? I need to get this to my parents before work tomorrow, and I doubt I'll be out of here before three," Emma said, obviously resigned to her fate as the one to comfort Nessa. No doubt she'd ring Ethan's neck the first chance she'd get.  
  
Without thinking, Rory agreed.  
  
"Thanks so much, Lor. I owe you one."  
  
"Hey, what are maid-of-honors for?" she asked. "Call me later."  
  
"Like you even have to say anything. I'm going to need someone to talk.Er, Nessa's coming. Bye."  
  
Before Rory could say it back, Emma cut the connection.  
  
Go over to Tristan's apartment. Hell.  
  
There was no way Rory could have said no without suspicion. After all, they were supposedly getting along. But now that she had a moment to think about what she'd agreed to, the prospect gave her pause. She couldn't get out of it now.  
  
Rory turned her eyes towards the television, her expression wistful. And she'd been so comfortable in her sleep clothes, squatting on the couch with a tub of ice cream. Although, leaving the apartment would mean a chance to get more ice cream. His apartment was across town, but on the way back, she could stop by the 24-hour convenience store and pick up a little something.  
  
Thinking that she should make the best of it, Rory got up and padded to her room. Rory decided to slip on something a little less comfortable for the drive to the Devil's lair.  
  
*  
  
In less time than she'd anticipated, Rory was standing in front of Tristan DuGrey's apartment door, twisting her long pink scarf into knots. She'd been staring at the small black '7D' mounted above the peephole, afraid to knock. Oh, not because she was afraid of seeing Tristan, but just the opposite. She was afraid of not seeing him on the other side.  
  
Acting in a manner most unlike herself, Rory forgot to bring her planner, the same brown leather planner that was her life. It had her daily schedule, all her business connections, her credit cards, and unfortunately, Tristan's address. Besides not being able to buy that ice cream she'd planned on, she was also unsure of whether or not the door she was standing in front of belonged to her friend's fiancée.  
  
Rory had been to his apartment only once, not really finding any business or desire to be there anymore than that. The one time she did come, it was to pick him up before they went to the florist. Even then, it was a quick stop and go.  
  
She'd tried to ask the security guard in the lobby, but he was near comatose, so she found no help from that quarter. A quick snoop around the mailboxes yielded no fruit either, so there she was, on the threshold of 7D, taking a leap of faith.  
  
As she rapped her knuckles, Rory closed her eyes and turned her head away, as though she were expecting a small explosion should it be a stranger who opened the door.  
  
Rory felt palpable relief when Tristan's familiar form appeared before her, in his rumpled pajama glory. His left hand was still on the knob when the right one shot out and pulled her flush against him, chest to chest, hip to hip.  
  
"I thought you'd never get here," he whispered as his lips descended upon hers.  
  
And then he kissed her.  
  
But it took him less than half a stroke of his fingers along her hip, less than one taste of her bottom lip, less than one breath of her sweet gardenia perfume, for him to pull away and stare down at her with a dazed expression. It was obvious who he thought he was kissing.  
  
"Rory?" he asked, as his eyes shot open. "What are you doing here?"  
  
She was still standing frozen, with her arms stiff at her side, her face a still-frame somewhere between embarrassment and confusion. Rory didn't take long to assume a more dignified posture as she cleared her throat.  
  
"Emma asked me to bring over the seating arrangement," she said, holding up her disk. "I figured she would have called you. You know, since she called me, that meant that she would have called you too, to tell you that I was coming, so you wouldn't be surprised when I showed up on your doorstep, which I wasn't even certain was your doorstep until I saw you open the door, so we could avoid awkwardness.which we clearly did not succeed at considering that.well.that. But then, really, when did she have the time to call you? Nessa couldn't have been in the bathroom that long, even if she."  
  
Tristan chuckled, making Rory stop midway. "What?" she asked. "Why are you laughing at me?"  
  
He gestured towards her as he reached up to scratch his head. "You still do that. I hadn't noticed before now."  
  
"What?" she asked, suddenly more than a little defensively.  
  
"Ramble when you're nervous. Oh, and talk faster than any normal person should," he said with a small smile.  
  
"I do not," she muttered.  
  
"Do too," he countered.  
  
"Do not."  
  
"Do too." When Tristan saw her ready to launched into another round of 'do not/do too,' he held up his hand. "Truce."  
  
She looked at him warily, even as her shoulders began to relax for the first time since she walked into his apartment. "Agreed."  
  
"And hey, sorry about the kiss. I thought you were Emma."  
  
And then her shoulders were tense again.  
  
Rory tried to keep her face from showing any emotion one way or another. "Of course. I mean, it's only natural that you'd think that your fiancée, whom you were expecting, would be the one at the door, instead of me, which would explain why you manhandled me."  
  
"Rambling again, and I don't manhandle."  
  
She took a calming breath, and then affected a smirk. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."  
  
He returned her smile, but offered no words, knowing they were unnecessary. The companionable silence they shared lasted for all of eight seconds, before another two seconds sent them tumbling over the precipice into an awkward silence, causing them both to speak at the same time as they tried to dig their way out.  
  
Rory held out her hand. "You go first."  
  
"I was just going to suggest we go over to my laptop and pop the disk in," he said.  
  
"Good thinking. Good," she repeated as they walked the short distance to his living room couch.  
  
She tried not to think about how many ways this night had already gone wrong since she first agreed to Emma's plea. There were too many things to count. Oh who was she kidding? The official number was fifteen. There had been fifteen things that had gone wrong, from saying yes in the first place to the forgotten planner to the lip-lock...and everything in between.  
  
Things were just ducky, she thought. Fifteen things wrong. So far.  
  
As they reached the couch, Rory pushed aside a fleece blanket and sunk down onto the soft brown cushions. Both were warm, suggesting to her that Tristan had been sitting, no laying, here when she knocked. Unconsciously she laid her hand on the fabric and pressed her palm into the warmth. But as soon as she realized what she was doing, she removed her hand and curled her fingers inward, placing it instead on her lap while she pondered her actions.  
  
**  
  
To be continued.later.much later.  
  
** 


	2. Chapter 2

"Tristan? Aren't you going to come over here and look at this?" Rory asked. She had popped the disk into his laptop and was waiting for him to join her. When he didn't answer the first time, she asked again. And then she realized that he was too busy watching her to hear her.

He was staring and he hadn't even known it. Instead of sitting down right away and going over the chart, Tristan had been rooted to the spot and staring at her—hard, if her blush was any indication. 

Another smooth move. As if his doorstep assault hadn't been enough.

Tristan cleared his throat. "Right. I should do that," he said, ambling over. As he sat down, he accidentally brushed her arm, and Rory not so accidentally jerked in the opposite direction. Tristan tried not to notice and instead focused on her neatly created visual. 

He tried to read the names, tried to picture the people, tried to care about any of it, but for the life of him, all Tristan could think about was that stupid kiss.

"I really am sorry," he said, unable to keep back the apology.

Her expression was pained for a moment, but then she forced a smile. "I said it was okay. Let's just drop it and pay attention to what's on this screen."

"You're right," he said. "It's just that I want to make it clear that it was an accident."

"Nothing clearer. In fact, it's summer's day clear to me. I understand," she sighed. When she saw his dubious expression, Rory rolled her eyes. "Shall I say it in another language? J_e comprends. Capisco. Ich verstehe. Entiendo_…"

"Cute," he replied. "I'm just trying to make sure I'm not sending any mixed signals. We've had our share of those in that past. It's not Chilton anymore, and I'm trying not to aggravate you just to get your attention because I have a crush on you. Emma's my fiancée, and I have absolutely no interest in you."

"I got that; can we move on now? I mean, for the love of god, look at this chart and figure out if you want things differently," Rory said in a tight voice.

And just like that, his guilt disappeared. In its place was the hurt he felt by her sharp tones and blatant dismissal.

"Okay, _fine_," he mumbled as his brows drew together. Tristan scanned over the circles denoting the tables and haphazardly moved two people together who he knew would spend the entire reception arguing.

"_Fine_? What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"It means, sure, all right, good, and all that jazz. Surely someone with your extensive vocabulary shouldn't be stumped by such a simple word," he said, sliding his finger over the touch-sensitive mouse pad and quickly switching two people at neighboring tables. 

Rory let out a short puff of air. "I meant the attitude accompanying the word, and you know it."

"Me with an attitude? Naw. I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about."

"And you're not even paying attention to what you're doing. You just put Emma's thirty year-old brother smack in the middle of a table consisting of children under twelve."

He shrugged. "You wanted me to make changes so you could get out of here, so I'm making changes. Besides, I hear Matt loves kids."

"Not this kind of change," she said, shoving aside his hand and undoing his last move. "And the only kids Matt loves are the ones that are one hundred yards away from him."

"My mistake."

Rory glared at him and closed the program, clicking on "No" when it asked her if she wanted to save the changes. She ejected the disk and stood up.

Tristan followed suit and looked down into her eyes. "What do you think you're doing?"

"This isn't going to work. I knew this would be a bad idea from the beginning. I'm just going to tell her that you found nothing that needed changing," she said, trying to maneuver around him.

But she didn't get more than two steps when his words made her stop. "Fine, leave. But if you're going to tell Emma anything, at least tell her the truth."

She swiveled around to look at him. "The truth is, you're being belligerent about this whole process and I have no idea why. So I ended it before you could cause irreparable damage to something Emma's been working really hard on for weeks," Rory said. "One minute you're all nice and human, the next you're grumpy and dare I say it? I think I will. _Bitchy_."

Tristan laughed. "That's rich, coming from the woman who up until this night tried her damnedest to pretend like I didn't exist every time she was in the same room with me. You've been a real sweetheart."

He shook his head. "The truth is, you hate me, and you can't stand the fact that I'm marrying your best friend."

Rory's brain halted. Did he really know what he was saying? She doubted that he understood the full implications of his statement.

"I don't hate you," she said, closing her eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes I do. I know you don't like me; you've never liked me. You think I'm arrogant and rude, egotistical and self-serving. And you know what, Rory? Once upon a time, you were right," he said, lowering his head. She could see the muscles working in his jaw line. "But I'm a different person now. So why can't you give me half a chance instead of making it painfully obvious to everyone how you feel about me?"

"Stop," she whispered, shaking her head. "Just stop it."

"I love Emma. We're good for each other. So why can't you be happy for us?" he asked, wearing a wounded expression.

"Because I don't hate you! I don't hate you so much that it's killing me!" she shouted, advancing on him. "Because you walked back into my life and turned things upside down. Do you even know what you've done? Of course you don't, you're you. You're you and you're happily steeped in wedding preparations to my best friend."

Rory stood a foot away from Tristan, glaring at him. "There's a reason I'm so busy every time Emma wants us all to get together outside of planning the wedding. 

"No one works as much as I claim to do. My car doesn't break down every other week. I haven't just started seeing a new therapist who demands to see me twice a week at unreasonable hours. I never had to watch my friend's dog in August. And I'm not training for the New York City Marathon. What kind of idiot do you take me for? Running around for twenty-six point two miles. Indeed. Since when have I struck you as the type of person who would exercise and consider it, and for that matter, fun? Honestly…"

She had just confessed to every story and fabrication she'd told them over the past couple months. Tristan had thought them contrived and impossible, so it was no revelation to him. For some reason, he could usually tell when she was lying, whether her giveaway was an inflection, a look or a gesture. He just…knew. But he didn't know why she was coming clean about everything, and now of all times.

"I never bought any of it," he said, shaking his head. "I knew you were trying to avoid me, plain and simple. Tell me something I didn't already know."

"Unbelievable. I knew men were thick, but not this thick," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Woman, good, Man, bad. I get it."

She chuckled. "Do you even get how long it took me to convince myself that I was okay with you marrying Emma? That I didn't care? I didn't balk at her request tonight because I had myself convinced, _convinced_, that I felt nothing for your sorry butt," she said, advancing to poke him in the chest. Rory kept her finger planted right above his sternum as she continued her spiel. 

"Of course it wouldn't be a problem for me to make a late night visit to Tristan DuGrey's apartment because I don't get the warm tingly feelings when I'm around him like a stupid love-struck teenager anymore. Warm tingly feelings, mind you, that are of unknown origin, and that pestered me for a good month or three before I could mind-control myself into thinking it was a fluke reaction to my best friend getting married, that would be the same if it were any man, not just you, and since that was the case, I wasn't a horrible person who chose an inappropriate time to realize feelings I'd probably had since high school, just a terribly misguided one who would probably be miraculously free of these feelings if I tried hard enough or once the wedding happened, whichever came first."

She punctuated her run-on sentence with another hard poke before finally drawing a breath. It was more than she wanted to say, but still less than she truly felt.

Tristan couldn't even begin to imagine an appropriate response. Anything that came to mind was complete garbage.

He backed away and sank onto his couch. "Gees. This is even more awkward than before. Well done."

"Thanks. Do I get a prize?" she said, and winced. "Sorry, reflex. Not the best time for sarcasm."

He laughed, throwing up his hands and dropped his head back. "You've got a hell of a sense of timing. I have no clue what I'm supposed to say. You're the writer, Rory, the one that's good with words. How am I supposed to react to such a confession? Tell me what to say, what to do. Should I tell you that I have feelings for you too?"

"That would just be silly," she muttered under her breath.

Tristan narrowed his eyes and got to his feet. "Is this really the right time for levity?"

Rory shrugged, and unconsciously moved as far as she could from Tristan to sit in an armchair. "I've almost completely ruined our encounter tonight, and most likely the duration of our pseudo-friendship. I'd say this is a perfect time for it. Didn't you just say I had an excellent sense of timing?"

"No, a hell of a sense is not the same as…Gees, Rory," he said, prowling from one end of the living to the next. "I don't understand. It's all…This is all so fucked up!"

She flinched at his raised voice. "I know it's wrong for me to feel the way I do, but…"

"Damn right it's wrong. For goodness sake, Rory, I…Emma…" He couldn't get the words out of his mouth, couldn't refine his jumbled thoughts into coherent sentences. Tristan drew a deep breath and said the only thing he was certain of at the moment. "I love her."

"I know! I know you love her. _I _love her! And I know it's wrong, but you asked! I told you because you pushed me," she said, shaking her head.

Tristan stopped his pacing, stopped to watch her. She sat with her shoulder slumped, out of fatigue or defeat, he didn't know. Suddenly, the guilt was back. 

"Rory…"

"I was doing just fine being confused and feeling like shit all on my own, thank you. But you pushed me. I'm sorry you didn't like what you heard. Frankly, neither did I," she said, her lips thin, her expression pinched.

"You think it's easy feeling the way I do? I can't even talk about it." Rory laughed hysterically, or as close to hysterical as she ever came. "Can you imagine me having a conversation about it with Emma?

"Um, Em, I know you're getting married in a couple weeks, but I thought you should know, I think I'm in love with Tristan. You know, you're fiancé."

"Wait a second. You said nothing about love," he said, now standing in front of her, clearly agitated.

"Another poorly-timed admission," she murmured, but recovered quickly from her slip. "It was implied."

"It was not. Love it not implied! I've tried that line before, and it has never worked," he said angrily.

"And when did you have time to fall in love with me? You barely talk to me, as it is."

"I think I was half in love with you almost immediately after we met again," she whispered. That got his attention, and got him to sit down on the coffee table in front of her.

She smiled wistfully. "It was the day after our unexpected reunion when Emma sat me down to confess all. Naturally she felt guilty for keeping you a secret for two whole months. I remember thinking how typical it was for her to fall for you. Attractive twenty-something professionals in tailored suits had always been Emma's cup of tea, so you came as no particular surprise. 

"What was surprising was the fact that she had kept you a secret at all. Emma always brought her men around for my approval, even though she knew they weren't lasting relationships, and she was always confident in their adoration. But I didn't get to find out about you until, well you know, and you are the only one that made her nervous, made her unsure of herself," Rory said, daring to look up at him. "It's no ordinary thing to make a confident woman like Emma nervous. The scary heart flutters, she called them."

"I hope they're a good thing."

Rory nodded. "They are. They're probably why she agreed to marry you. Anyhow, over lots of coffee and chocolate, she told me all your stories with a glow in her eyes. Tristan, the cocky playboy that had women at his feet, but eyes only for one woman."

"Fidelity is very important in a relationship."

"The considerate boyfriend that sent her pots of pansies and violets instead of bouquets of roses because he knew she didn't like the idea of cut flowers," she said next.

He shrugged. "They last longer, and I couldn't bear the thought of little roses screaming as they were clipped from their bushes. It's awfully nice of her to endure them at our wedding for my mother's sake."

Rory couldn't resist teasing. "DuGreys can't have silk flowers at their weddings."

"My mother would sooner admit that she can only trace her lineage to the 18th century," he joked. "And we both know how likely that is."

"You played the sweet gallant and bought a little girl another ice cream cone when she'd accidentally dropped hers," she recounted. 

That made him blush, feeling abashed. "She had no more money and the alternative was watching her cry."

Rory sighed. "After hundreds of such details of a man clearly too good to be true, how could I not fall a little bit?"

"You didn't have any problem in high school," he pointed out, remembering how she had bruised his ego.

"You were an ass then," she said dryly. She almost grinned when he lifted his hands in concession. 

Her expression turned serious before she spoke again. "I tried to assimilate her stories and my memories, and nothing fit. Of course it didn't. How could I judge you by your behavior from when we were sixteen? It was unfair of me. If you'll recall, I admitted as much in the bar.

"So then I decided to forget the bad parts of our past and try to like you and be happy for you and Emma; that was probably the first mistake," she admitted. 

Rory gazed out the window, unseeing. "Watching you together…it's so obvious you're in love, and I guess, somewhere in all of that…I don't know. Maybe love isn't even the right word. I can't explain how I feel. I just know that it's not something I should be feeling for my best friend's future husband. I am an appallingly bad friend."

He clenched his hands into fists on his knee, willing himself not to reach out to her. Tristan could admit to himself that he wanted to comfort her right now, despite everything she just said, or maybe because of it. It was becoming harder to sort out his thoughts by the second.

"You're not a bad friend. In fact you're a great one, with excellent powers of restraint. Not everyone would have been able to, you know. I am awed and very impressed that you've been able to resist your desire to seduce me this entire time," he said with an absolutely straight face.

Rory couldn't help but laugh a little. "Stop trying to make me laugh."

"It worked, didn't it?"

She groaned, pressing the palm of her right hand to her brow. "This is insane. One minute we're arguing, the next minute you're trying to make me not feel like a jerk for admitting my feelings for you weeks before your wedding," she muttered absently. "And it's not as though I want us to do…anything, you know, about, my…um, feelings. The mere idea is ridiculous. I just…thought…well, you know."

"Yeah, I know, I pressed you to tell me what was bugging you," Tristan said softly. "You really do have the worst timing ever."

She guffawed, intensely amused. "What are you saying? That if you weren't engaged, you might be returning my feelings instead of being offended and disturbed?"

Tristan shifted his eyes from Rory to the floor. And then he made a cardinal mistake: he hesitated a half-beat too long. "No."

He could tell that even she didn't believe him, even without the rising color in her cheeks as an indicator. 

"No! You're not allowed to say stuff like that," Rory said, pointing at him. "Take it back."

Tristan tried to pretend not to understand. "Take what back? I said, no."

Rory got up then, and circled to the back of the armchair. "You said 'no' after a suspicious pause. It implies the fact that you wish to express the opposite of what you are about to say," she reasoned.

Tristan pushed himself up to his feet. "I am really starting to dislike your usage of the word 'implied.'"

She suddenly felt trapped, claustrophobic, and scared. Clearly, there were no reasons for her to feel that way, with an entire chair between her and a non-threatening Tristan. But his hesitation did the worst thing to her, making her feel hope and horror in the same moment.

He couldn't have meant what she thought he meant. It was her overactive imagination again. Naturally. She had to fix it all and walk away, now.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I'm just…skittish and a little out of sorts. Ignore me," she said with a weak smile. 

Tristan was still rooted in the same position, his feet slightly apart, his hands on his hips, and staring at her with a curious expression. She didn't know what to make of his look, so she continued.

"How about we call for mutual selective amnesia? Can we pretend this night, this conversation, these confessions, never happened?" she pleaded. "I'm sure we'll both feel better for it."

He walked towards her then, stopping much too close for her comfort. Then he turned his disturbing blue-gray eyes on her, searching hers for something she didn't care to think about.

"Okay," he said finally.

For that brief moment, relief flooded her chest. Rory felt as though she might be able to put the entire ugly episode behind her. "Good. Great. Thank you."

She turned to leave. Two steps separated her from the apartment door.

"We should seal the bargain, don't you think?"

Rory halted mid-stride, afraid to look back. Surely he didn't mean a kiss or a hug, did he?   
She took a deep breath first, then swiveled on her feet. She almost laughed when she saw his outstretched hand. Her imagination really was working overtime tonight. If she continued this way, she'd be barking mad by morning.

"Absolutely."

It was their fatal error. Rory knew it as soon as her palm slid against his. Her eyes shot up to his again.

They should have never touched again. Her reaction to the accidental arm brush should have been enough of a warning signal. Not after that kiss. It didn't matter that Tristan had thought that he was kissing Emma before. The fact remained that it was Rory in his arms, and it was Rory's lips he tasted.

Before she knew what was happening, she was stretching up on her toes the same time he was moving his head down. Their lips met, and all was lost. Tristan released her hand, sliding his own down to span her waist. Rory reached up to tangle her arms around his neck and held on for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

All she could feel was her head getting lighter, her breath growing erratic. Warmth spread through her breasts, extended down her abdomen and raced through her arms and legs like wildfire. When his tongue stroked hers, Rory's knees almost buckled. She heard herself moan into his mouth, and gasp in surprise when her back hit the wall.

His hands moved up, cupped her breasts almost reverently. Desire overwhelmed her system, making her painfully aware of the ache between her legs, and his hardness pressing against her hip. She felt herself falling further into his embrace, forgetting herself as though she had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Tristan broke their kiss, but only to trail kisses along her neck, breathing her name as he went. He kissed her with such tenderness she almost cried. It had been far too long since she was in any man's arms. Now, to be in Tristan's…it was…it was…

Awful.

It wasn't supposed to feel this good. Not with Emma's fiancé. Emma's fiancé. _Emma's_. Not hers. 

_He would never be hers_.

As though he was reading her mind, Tristan stopped moving, though his lips were still pressed to the swell of her breast. He pulled back, dropped his hands from her body, and walked clear to the other side of the room. She rolled sideways, unable to look at him, and fought back the tears that welled in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she heard him say, his voice husky and choked.

"Don't be."

Rory didn't say goodbye. She couldn't. Instead, she just opened the door as quickly as possible and slipped out. She didn't know if she remembered to bring the disk along, the entire reason for her presence there. Rory just knew that she had to leave before she fell apart in front of him.

It would be more humiliation than she could endure in one night.

Almost two hours after Rory left, Tristan was still standing with his head against a windowpane, his hands braced on either side of the frame. He was replaying every excruciating moment of her visit, from the first groggy kiss, to the uncomfortable confessions, to the second mind-boggling embrace. He didn't know right from wrong, didn't know black from white, didn't know up from down. 

What the hell had happened? He could scarcely believe it wasn't all some twisted dream. Surely the real Rory Gilmore hadn't just admitted to loving him. Surely his normally rational self hadn't just betrayed his fiancée with her best friend.

Oh, he hadn't forgotten that detail. No, sir. It was first and foremost in his brain, beating a steady tattoo against his temple. Betrayal. There was just no way around it, no way to spin it into anything else. He had been unfaithful. Hadn't he told Rory how important fidelity was to him?

He was such a hypocrite.

How could he justify it? Even if Rory said they could just seal a bargain to forget about the whole sordid mess, deep down, they knew, he knew, that they wouldn't be able to forget.

Not after hearing Rory's admission, even if it was ten years too late. And he definitely wouldn't be able to disregard how she felt in his arms. She had made him forget all about Emma. Just for the smallest of moments, but it was enough to make him feel like a complete bastard now.

God, what had he done?

He almost didn't hear his cell phone ringing in the background. Tristan turned his eyes towards the noise, but made no immediate move to get it.

God, what had she done?

Rory couldn't feel worse even if she tried. She clutched her stomach, as she lay on her couch, trying to stop crying. She had betrayed the trust of her best friend. How could she ever look Emma in the eye ever again? 

It wasn't just a kiss. It was so much more. The first kiss might have been forgiven; after all, he did think she was Emma. But the second kiss…and the words... The words were just as treacherous, if not more so. 

What had she hoped to accomplish by telling him that she loved him? Rory could tell herself that Tristan had forced the words from her lips. However, in her heart, she knew it was her selfish need for catharsis. 

He didn't ever need to know. 

But she had to tell someone. Anyone. Even thought she knew it would destroy everything. 

Rory was a ticking time bomb of self-indulgence, regardless of cost. What kind of person did that make her?

The devil's advocate in her screamed. 

_What if Tristan loves you back? _

What if it isn't your imagination? 

What if he wants you, truly, more than he wants Emma? 

Who are you to deny yourself, and him? 

What if you are meant to be…?  
  
"No!" she shouted, sitting up straight and holding her head in her palms. Tears meandered down her cheeks. "No.

"This is all wrong. I'm losing my mind."

But what if she wasn't? What if she was making the biggest mistake of her life by not fighting for her heart? Was she just imaging the love she felt for Tristan? No, she knew, even before Emma walked into the bar, that there was something between them that night. He wouldn't have flirted back if his heart really belonged to Emma, would he?

Had she made a mistake in leaving his apartment?

"Tristan," she murmured. Rory's hand shot out for her phone. She had to talk to him. 

"Hello," he said, his voice little more than a rasp.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry," she said, her soft voice making his heart ache.

"Not at all. I was waiting for you to call," he lied, biting down on his lip. "I expected you tonight."

Emma sighed. "I know. I should have called to tell you that I couldn't come, that Lorelai was coming in my place, but I had time for just one call, and…it was a mess. I'm lucky to be out of that disaster area before sunrise."

Tristan cleared his throat, tried to clear his head of Rory. "She said it was some sort of emergency. Something about Nessa and a bathroom?"

Her laughter felt like a kick to the stomach. "Yeah. That's a story left for another night. So what happened?"

"Huh?" he asked, slightly surprised. 

Rory wouldn't have called up Emma to tell her everything, would she? Impossible. And Emma wouldn't be this pleasant. She's just as soon hit him and tell him to fuck off if she knew what had transpired.

"Did you make any changes, or was everything okay?" she asked.

She was talking about the seating chart. The damned seating chart.

"No, it was perfect. I bow down to your superior knowledge," he sighed.

"Uh oh, now what's the sigh about?"

In that instant it hit him. He knew what he had to do. It was a moment of clarity that he hadn't expected, but he knew with absolutely certainly that he had to act now.

"Would you kill me if I said I didn't want a big wedding?" he asked, his heart hammering in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears.

She chuckled. "You says this now, less than a month before the wedding, when everything has already been planned?"

"Let's go to Vegas tonight. You say the word, and I'll get us plane tickets. We can get married at a small chapel on the Strip," Tristan said, silently begging her to agree to his mad scheme.

"Is this what you really want?"

He didn't hesitate this time. "Yes."

Two rings. Three rings. Four rings. Why wasn't he picking up? He couldn't have gone to sleep already. Five rings.

"You've reached the voicemail of Tristan DuGrey. Leave me a message, and I'll get back to you."

She didn't know if what she was about to say was strictly proper for voicemail, but…

"Tristan, it's me. Rory. I'm sorry I ran out like that, I know it was completely cowardly of me. I…I just couldn't stay. I had to think. But the more I think, the more I want to know…what you would have said if I hadn't cut you off. Before the…kiss. Before…everything. I know I'm a terrible person, and Emma will probably disown me after this, but…I don't want to regret not exploring…us. Gees, I must sound completely crazy to you. That's what sleep deprivation will do to you. Just…give me a call, okay? We need to talk. Bye."

His thumb hovered over the keypad of his phone. He'd seen the call from Rory, knew that she'd left a message. With a little bit of pressure on one key he could erase the message, pretend he never saw it. 

"Hey, you should turn the phone off before the flight attendant yells at you," Emma pointed out. "We're about to take off."

Tristan looked over at Emma, saw the trust, the love in her eyes, and knew that he loved her back. He loved this woman.

He pressed the key and deleted Rory's message, before tucking the now turned off phone into his pocket.

"Spoil sport. I was just checking the time," he said, leaning over to kiss her. He grazed her cheek with the back of his hand. "In less than seven hours, we'll be married."

"I know. It's incredibly insane, and I'm not sure I'd be doing this with anyone but you."

He smiled. "I'd hope not, since I intend to have you to myself for the foreseeable lifetime."

Emma nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. "You know, I wonder what Lor will say when she finds out we eloped. She'll probably flip. Or kill me for making her put up with you tonight all for nothing."

Tristan was lucky Emma couldn't see his expression. "I think she'll understand. Rory will know it was the right thing to do." 

The End


End file.
